


Snowball's Chance in Hell

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: First Time, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-16
Updated: 2006-10-16
Packaged: 2018-11-10 17:36:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11131605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Ray gets his name back, considers his chances, and gets hit by a clown somewhere in the middle.





	Snowball's Chance in Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Snowball's Chance in Hell

## Snowball's Chance in Hell

  
by DeNile  


Disclaimer: Due South doesn't belong to me. Fraser and Ray don't either. Sadly. I don't make any money off this, at all. 

Author's Notes: Unbeta'd. Mostly because I'm new around here and don't know anyone to ask. <bats eyes> Would YOU like to be my friend?

Story Notes: This is more shameless, harmless fluff. I wrote it to brighten up my day. It's post COTW, if that counts as a warning.

* * *

Snowball's Chance in Hell  
  
So, here's the thing. I'm absolutely, unquestionably, blissfully free. And no, I didn't need a dictionary to look those up. These past years with Fraser as a partner have been good for more than just learning _bloom and close_.  
  
I'm free. I'm Kowalski again. I'm still Ray, but I'm the right Ray this time. It's a funny thing, when people call you your name, but you know they're not talking to you. Fraser was the only one to get it right. When he called me Ray, I knew he was talking to _me_.  
  
But I'm having a bit of trouble staying on topic here. Look, the whole point is that I can do anything. I can go anywhere. Anywhere. Really. I could go to L.A. and deal with the sort of garbage that collects in a City of Angels. I could go to New York and play in that sandbox. I could go to Arizona and hang with my folks. I could skip the U.S. entirely... the force is always looking for undercover cops willing to cross borders. It's dangerous work, of course, going to Argentina or Mexico, or hell, even as far as Russia, to take down the bads, but it pays like heaven, so that's the trade off. I could even retire, if I wanted. I could do anything now. Dear old Vecchio was back where he was supposed to be and so my gig was up. Even Fraser's free now. I can just see it in his eyes. It's all snow and ice and open vistas for him. He's got nothing holding him back. And me? I've got _absolutely_ nothing holding me back.  
  
Except one small little thing.  
  
Because, in the two years its been since I took on this job, since Fraser walked right into my arms looking like a lost puppy, I seem to have learned a few new things about myself. And one of them, the one that really bit me in the ass, is that I seem to be more than a little gay.  
  
And, the really funny thing is, I don't seem to have a problem with it.  
  
It really hit me one day at work, but it wasn't like getting hit with a Mack truck or a ton of bricks or anything. It was like getting run over by a clown. Yeah, it hurts, but it's just so damned _funny_ that you can't help but laugh as you bleed out on the pavement.  
  
So I'm sitting there, minding my own damned business, and Fraser comes in off the street. He's wearing the brown uniform, which I have always been a fan of, maybe because he never wears it, maybe because it makes his eyes look even more insanely blue than they already are. Anyway, it's killer windy out there, and so his hair, usually slicked within an inch of its life, is wild and tousled, and his face is reddish, and he looks kinda breathless, like he was just running a marathon, which, you never know, maybe he was. But, yeah. I don't know if its just the surprise of seeing him in the brown, or if it's the surprise of seeing him look human, or if it was some combination of the two, but I suddenly want to do nothing else in the world but push him against the wall and just go to town on him. Maybe pull him into that closet. First time he did that to me, I was a bit curious about this Ray Vecchio I was supposed to be. I mean, his records painted him as being the worst kind of guy's guy, but... I mean, really. He pulls me into the _closet_? Made me wonder a little.  
  
But I'm getting off topic again. So I'm sitting there, as aroused as a guy can be while sitting in the middle of a room full of cops, and I'm praying to God that Fraser with his hyper-developed senses doesn't turn them on me. But never once did I think, "Fuck. This must mean I'm gay. I can't be gay!" No, instead my brain went more along the pattern of, "Fuck. I don't have a snowball's chance in hell."  
  
Because, yeah, you've seen him, haven't you? Guh.  
  
So back to being free. People are always talking about standing on crossroads, but I always thought it was a metaphysical... uh, metaphorical kind of thing. But no. It isn't. You find yourself there and it's so obvious. It feels exactly like standing in the middle of an intersection. Because you have to make a choice of which way to go, and each direction is taking you somewhere you aren't, and if you don't hurry up and choose, that Mack truck I mentioned earlier is going come by and smush you like a bug. I'm standing there in that intersection and all I want is a sign. A really good, old fashioned Biblical sign to show me the way.  
  
It really blows my mind when I get one.  
  
I'm sitting in the middle of snow and ice and vistas, and Fraser is over there somewhere, getting smooched by the Ice Queen. I'm not really worried that the two of them are going to hook-up, thereby destroying my non-existent chances with him, because if I turn my head, I can see the kiss, and, yeah, it's pretty intense, but it's so obviously a goodbye. It's a, `yeah, this never had a chance did it?' So I'm not jealous. Maybe a little. But mostly, I'm waiting for him to come stumbling back and sit back down so we can finish what we were talking about.  
  
And he does. He comes back and sits down beside me, despite that there's a lot of fire to sit around. Probably just some way to conserve heat or something. I turn my head just a little and smile at him, and he smiles back. I lift an eyebrow and he blushes and laughs. I love the way we can talk to each other without saying a word. We've come a hell of a long way since the time we had to pop each other in the jaw in order to get our words across.  
  
And I say, "She gone then? You're a free man now."  
  
He nods and opens his mouth like he wants to say more, but then he closes it again and shakes his head, the way he does when he's disagreeing with his brain. So I just look at the fire, because it doesn't do much good to rush him. He still doesn't say anything so I speak up, a bit wistfully, cause that's what happens when you're sitting by a cracking fire and when there's a blanket of stars overhead and when you and your best friend are standing at that crossroads and you've got the sinking feeling that you're both going to take different roads. I say, "That adventure would've been nice."  
  
And he looks at me and repeats, "Would have been?"  
  
"Well, yeah," I say back. "Doesn't look like its going to happen now. Can't have much of an adventure if I'm in Chicago and you're up here. Can't have much of anything." I say that last bit kinda quiet, but I know he hears anyway. I'm just not sure how the second-most naive Mountie in the world is going to interpret it.  
  
And maybe that was the sign he was waiting for, because I get mine. Not really a sign. More like... an answer. He looks at me and maybe the clouds don't part and the sun doesn't beam and there isn't a rainbow and a choir of angels, but he says, "Would you like to stay?"  
  
I look over at him, holding my breath a little, and ask, "Here?" Translation, With you?  
  
He nods, looking equally breathless. And nervous. So I say that second bit aloud, just to be sure we're on the same page.  
  
He nods again and looks like he's going to be sick.  
  
I decide that I have to clear this up with streak-free Windex. I want birds smacking themselves into us, we're so clear.  
  
"You want me to stay here, with you. Like, in the same general area?" He nods. "Same tent?" He nods again. "Same sleeping bag?" He swallows and nods again.  
  
I look back at the fire and grin. "Yeah, that sounds like an adventure. I'm game."  
  
He grins back and shifts closer to me. I bite my lip to keep from laughing and do a little complicated manoeuvre, getting my mitten off and slipping my hand into his mitten, palms together so our fingers can do that sweet little wind together thing. He grips my hand and I think that later, maybe he can give me some make-up lessons on that _bloom and close_ thing. With some buddy breathing mixed in.   
  
I'm thinking that, yeah, maybe I did have a snowball's chance in hell while we were in Chicago. But here? Snowballs have a pretty damned good chance for the long-term up here.  
  
END  
  


  
 

* * *

End Snowball's Chance in Hell by DeNile 

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